Flight of the Phantom
by katbybee
Summary: Summary: This is a birthday fic for my awesome writing partner, Xav. (Sorry it's late.) After an off-duty adventure goes awry, Chet discovers a side of John he never knew existed. (No slash.) AU R/R Usual Useless Disclaimers.
1. Chapter 1

**Los Angeles, California**

Johnny really should've known better. Anytime Chet asked him to do anything with him they wound up in trouble. But it seems innocent enough at the time. Chet had decided to tackle his fear of flying by taking flying lessons. And he'd gotten far enough along that he was allowed to take a passenger with him. And naturally, the Phantom chose his Pigeon. Johnny went along with it. Because a) he really didn't believe Chet was actually taking lessons in the first place, and b) if he was taking the lessons, maybe there would be some pretty girls hang around the airport.

Johnny was not wrong about the pretty girls. Unfortunately with his usual luck, none of them seem particularly interested. As he discovered, Chet was indeed taking flying lessons. The plane they went up in was a Beechcraft turboprop. It was a nice plane, and Johnny actually was impressed with it. The instructor was a grizzled old man. He looked like he been around for a hundred years. That made Johnny a bit nervous. But the man did seem to know what he was doing.

Johnny was impressed with Chet's abilities. Of course, he would never tell his friend that. It would ruin their relationship. They flew for a while, and everything was fine. The weather was beautiful. Johnny found he was truly enjoying himself. It was not until they were headed back to the airport towards the end of the lesson that trouble reared its ugly head. One of the engines in the twin engine plane began to sputter and cut out. Johnny immediately became concerned. The instructor took over flying the plane. Everything happened very, very quickly after that. Too quickly.

Obscurely. Johnny remembered that the Instructor had introduced himself as Ed. He stared at the back of Ed's head. The man valiantly fought the controls. He desperately tried to fly the plane. It was a losing battle. Chet turned his head to look at Johnny and their eyes met. Both men were horrified, because they realized this was not going to end well. They were about to crash.

~51~

Ed did the best he could. But there was no way to bring them down gently. He landed the plane in a remote area trying his best to avoid as many large outcroppings of rocks and trees as possible. It was a testament to his skill that, he managed to keep the plane from cartwheeling. As it was both wings stayed intact although he landing gear broke, and the nose impacted some heavy brush, sending some of the taller, stiffer plants in through windshield. In the grand scheme of things. It could have been much worse. They could have all been killed. Unfortunately, Ed did not survive the crash. Nothing seemed to have struck the man directly, but they figured later that it was possible the shock of the crash had simply been too much for his heart.

Johnny open his eyes. And immediately knew something was wrong. In a big way. For one thing, airplanes beyond in the air, not on the ground. In pieces. For another, his favorite shirt had a tear in it. And staring at the rip, he realized, he had a few tears in him as well. He frowned as a few more things clicked in place in his foggy thoughts. He was fairly sure he was staring out the windshield, but he was sitting sideways. Sort of. That definitely was wrong.

His head hurt—a lot. There seemed to be something itchy and sticky running down the side of his head. Which was probably less than good. Somehow nothing made sense. He had the vague idea he should be doing something, but he had no idea what. Along with the pain, he felt light-headed and dizzy. His memory seemed to be playing games with him, and the scene around him seemed to make less and less sense the longer he stared around him. Nothing much registered with him. Maybe he should just sleep for a little while and when he woke up things would be all better. Armed with his new plan, Johnny smiled and drifted off….

 **~51~**

Chet shifted uncomfortably as he began to regain his senses. He felt the immediate sensation of being trapped. Panicked, his eyes flew open, and as he stared at the broken windshield of the plane and the invading branches, he had to force himself to breathe normally. The last thing he needed was to throw himself into a full-blown anxiety attack. He had been prone to them since Vietnam, though he was good at hiding them normally.

After a few moments he felt calmer and began to methodically take stock of his situation. He did an assessment of his medical condition. Somehow, except for some cuts and bruises, and the fact that he might have messed up his right knee and banged up some ribs on his left side, since that was the seat he was still in as pilot, though Ed had taken the controls during the last part of the flight. This plane was equipped with dual controls, since it was a specially equipped trainer. By reflex he checked to see if the emergency beacon was functioning. He was relieved when he saw that it was. He also looked at the radio on the console, and ruefully discovered that it was smashed beyond repair. He shook his head. It figured.

Chet realized he was not jammed in place but that it was going to take a bit of maneuvering to get himself free. He was more concerned for Ed and Johnny. He glanced over at Ed, and it took only one look to see that the old man was dead. Chet sighed sadly. The instructor had been a good friend that Chet had known for years. He had met him in Vietnam when the man had been in charge of the fixed wing division on the transport ship Chet had been assigned to for a while.

Unfortunately in his current position, Chet could not turn enough to check on Johnny, since he had been seated directly behind Chet. He struggled with his harness. And finally got free. He then carefully worked his way out of his seat, hissing in pain when the control panel pushed into his chest as he finally pulled himself free. He quickly massaged his aching chest and realized with some satisfaction that while he may have cracked a few ribs, none were broken. His knee was indeed very sore but didn't seem to be broken. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He turned towards Johnny, and gasped. Because one of his best friends was badly hurt. There was a bad gash on his head that looked as if it might still be bleeding. He was pale, almost ashen and twisted at an odd angle in his seat because the back part of the plane had not fared as well as the front. They must have hit some sort of obstruction coming in, because the back of the plane had broken partially in half and canted the fuselage to port. John's seat had come unbolted, and one of the loose bolts had flown up and dug a furrow into his scalp. Chet was no expert, but that was how it looked to him, considering there were several loose bolts littering the floor.

He looked around for a first aid kit, knowing from his conversations with Ed that there would always be a survival kit in any plane he flew. Gratefully, he discovered a fairly extensive kit inside a footlocker filled with MREs, water, two canteens, water purification tablets, a pot, a roll of plastic bags, a roll of duct tape, four flannel jackets, four survival blankets, two K-Bar survival knives, a folding Pulaski tool*, a folding shovel, a waterproof box of matches, two tarps, four Maglites, a compass, extra batteries and a 25' coil of rope. He blessed Ed for the supplies which had just made it much more likely they would survive this crash. He knew from Ed's stories that he had been a POW in Korea and that he never had really gotten over the experience, that he never felt really safe anywhere. He had likely felt the need to be prepared for anything, which would certainly explain the footlocker. Because as Chet thought about it, he realized he had seen that footlocker in every plane Ed had taken him up in, as well as in Ed's office at the airport. He shook his head sadly, the enormity of his friend's sacrifice truly hitting him for the first time. He opened one of the thermal blankets and spread it over the old man's body temporarily. He would bury him properly as soon as he could, since he had no idea how long they would be here. They could move him as soon as rescuers arrived.

He moved back beside Johnny with the first aid kit and set to work assessing the damage and bandaging his head and arm. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since the crash, but some of the blood had dried on John's wounds and on his own cuts, so it had to be a while. He also absently realized that the shadows had shifted subtly since just before the crash, so he figured it had to be several hours at least. And that scared him, because it meant that his friend had been unconscious for a long time. Even more troubling, Chet knew that some of what he was doing in the process of cleaning his wounds and bandaging them had to hurt, and Gage hadn't eve twitched. That was really bad news.

Chet realized that to do any kind of real assessment, he was going to have to get Johnny out of the seat and lying on a flat surface. He looked ruefully around at the littered fuselage. There wasn't much to work with in the way of flat surfaces, but it was better than nothing. To be on the safe side, he retrieved on of the tarps from the footlocker and spread it out on the floor of the plane, after moving aside as many of the shards of plexiglass and metal as he could.

He then tackled Gage's harness, bracing him into his seat as well as he could so that he wouldn't fall to the floor because of the odd angle he was sitting in. Once he was loose, Chet gently lowered him onto the tarp, grateful for the tremendous upper body strength he possessed thanks to years of wrestling fully charged fire hose. There were not many things that didn't move when Chet Kelly wanted them to move.

He began checking Johnny over, grateful for the rudimentary first aid courses he had taken over the years, and for the exposure to some of the more advanced techniques he had picked up just from watching John and Roy work since they had been at 51s. He was also happy that Ed had had the foresight to keep a well-stocked first aid kit on hand. It was quite complete, and up-to-date.

Chet had done a preliminary assessment before and done a basic bandaging. Now he did a more thorough check and cleaning. He also took the time to actually stitch the wounds. Johnny seemed to be deeply unconscious, which really worried Chet. He finished suturing his head wound and rechecked his eyes. His pupils were more sluggish than he would have liked, but he could only hope he would come around soon. He moved on and stitched the lacerations in his arm. There were three, although only one was of any consequence.

He tore open one of the thermal blankets and wrapped Johnny in it as best he could. He knew he needed to go out and look their situation over and set up camp. They were not likely going to be able to stay in the plane for very long. Already the fuselage was showing signs of stress fractures, and it would not do to be sleeping inside the plane and have it split apart on them in the middle of the night.

Chet was nothing if not practical. Vietnam had taught him that. He was hoping that rescue would show up soon, but he was not counting on anything. For one thing, they were in a remote area, and there were mountains around. He had no idea if the emergency beacon was actually transmitting or not. If it was, fantastic. If not, then, they would be missed soon enough, and someone would come looking. But either way, for a while, they were on their own. And with John out for the count at the moment, Chet was it. He had nobody to depend on but himself. Well, if his sister was to be believed, he might have a little help…

He glanced heavenward. "God, I know we don't talk much, and I know you know what a mess I'm in. A break would be good here, huh?" He paused and thought about it. "I mean, if You could, at least for John anyway. He's a good guy who's helped a lotta people. Me, well, Ma always says we aren't supposed to ask for ourselves, so I won't, but you know anyway." He sighed and shook his head and then continued checking out the area.

 **~TBC~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Chet soon found a suitable area to make camp that was near the plane, but also offered some cover. He would have preferred a cave, but there was none in the immediate area, and he needed to get Johnny settled. He went back into the plane and carried the footlocker out into the clearing. Quickly, he pulled out the shovel and the Pulaski and cleared the small rocks and the brush out of the way and smoothed the area out. He built a fire ring, gathered some brush for kindling and chopped some small branches for firewood. He got a fire going and set up a crude shelter and laid out blankets and soon had a meal set up. He had found some coffee, for which he was eternally grateful. He had gotten the lanterns out of the plane and ready to turn on once it got dark. He had been keeping track of Johnny throughout his preparations, but the paramedic had shown little sign of regaining consciousness.

Eventually, the camp was as ready as Chet could make it. He had moved all their supplies from inside the plane. He had cut extra wood, so they had plenty. He had moved Ed's body and buried him in a shallow grave and covered it with rocks to protect him from predators. He figured they could move him when they were rescued. And now it was time to move Johnny into the shelter by the fire. Chet really wished his Pigeon would just wake up, because he really was scared to carry him that far. He didn't want to hurt him, but he couldn't drag him out of the shattered fuselage of the plane without risking hurting him even more than he already was.

 **~51~**

Later that night, Johnny had been showing signs of waking up, but seemed as if were becoming delirious and Chet wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He lay back in his blankets staring at the stars in despair. He was scared, and half sick with fear. For some reason, his mind went back to stories his father used to tell when he was a kid of his grandfather's experiences when he served overseas in France during WW1. He had lost an arm in Verdun, and though he had never really told them all the details, Chet remembered the photograph above the mantle that had pride of place of his own father and his grandfather.

The old man had one arm around his son, and one empty sleeve pinned to his shirt. His father was dressed in his uniform and was getting ready to ship out with his unit. His father had served in World War 2. He had come home basically unscathed, for which Chet would always be grateful. But Chet had never really known his grandfather. He had died when Chet was very young. He had vague impressions of him… fleeting impressions only.

Sometimes he envied his older brothers and sisters, who had gotten to spend a lot more time with him, especially because the old man had lived with them during the last five years of his life. Chet had been only three when he died. But he remembered his booming laugh and his bright eyes… green, like his own. And he remembered the smell of cherry pipe tobacco whenever he was nearby. Memories he would always treasure.

Memories. What memories would people have of him if he didn't make it out of this? He could hear it now. Tears had begun to course down Chet's face as his thoughts overwhelmed him. "Kelly? Oh yeah sure, I remember him. He was that guy that was always pullin' pranks on people, right? Yeah. The one who never took anything seriously in his life. He was a good lineman but couldn't settle down enough to even pass the engineer's test. Yeah, I remember him. He was always doin' stupid stuff. He tried to learn to fly and ended up killin' himself and two other people, including the best paramedic the county ever had.

"Bullshit." The voice in the darkness startled Chet. He hadn't realized that he'd voiced his thoughts out loud.

He looked over to see Johnny staring at him. "What?"

Johnny's face was as serious as Chet had ever seen him. "I call bullshit, Chet. We aren't dead yet. And I know you. If we get out of this, it will because you make sure we do. I trust you, Chester B. So shut up and get some sleep, because I gotta tell you, pal, I think I'm in a whole lotta trouble here, an'—" realization seemed to dawn in his eyes and a confused expression settled into his features.

Suddenly frightened, Chet scrambled out of his sleeping bag, and knelt by John. "What is it?"

"I dunno, but—" wide, frightened chocolate eyes stared into his own. "I don't know, Chet. There… there's something really bad happening. My-muh—head—hurts. Ch—I-aahh—aaaaa…" And suddenly John's head turned awkwardly to the side and his body arched into a gran-mal seizure.

Fortunately, this was something Chet knew how to deal with. His training kicked in and he turned John gently onto his side and made sure there was nothing he could hurt himself on. He knew there was nothing else he could do under the circumstances, and he could only pray John would come out of it quickly, and that he would not stop breathing, as sometimes happened with seizures of this type.

He also knew better than to try to force anything into John's mouth to stop him from biting his tongue. It was probable he would have some oral trauma, but it was far more dangerous to John to try to force anything into his mouth. Patients had actually been harmed by the practice. In the past the old wive's tale that people could swallow their tongue during a seizure had given birth to the harmful practice. Chet knew that what likely had happened in those cases was that the patients' throats had swollen, or they had suffered respiratory failure.

Thankfully, the seizing stopped within a few minutes and John lay quiet, though he did not regain consciousness immediately. Chet watched him carefully, noting he had lost bladder control, which was not surprising.

He went into their supplies and gathered what clothing and blankets he could, as well as what he needed to clean John up. He had no direct experience with the aftermath of a seizure, but he understood that what had happened would be hard for John to deal with, and he intended to try to make it as easy on his friend as possible. He was not prepared for the impact of what awaited him when John opened his eyes nearly 45 minutes later.

Chet had managed to get John changed out of his wet jeans, cleaned up and into a pair of sweats. He had also moved John's old sleeping bag outside their shelter and gotten him into a different bag, all without John coming around. In a way it was good. But in a bigger way it scared the hell out of Chet. Because it wasn't right, and Chet knew it.

Finally, John began to stir, as Chet was building up the fire. Chet went over and knelt anxiously next to him. "Johnny, you okay?"

Slowly, brown eyes cracked open and gazed up at him muzzily. He was quiet for a long time, simply watching the man staring down at him. As awareness seeped slowly into his brain, panic began to register in his expression. Because the man behind those chocolate eyes registered absolutely no awareness of who he was or what had happened to him.

Chet frowned at the confusion on John's face. "What's wrong, babe?"

John's brow wrinkled as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He ached all over and he felt as if all the energy had been forcibly sucked out of his body. Worse, he had no idea where he was, or who the man staring at him was. He opened his mouth to ask, and suddenly realized he also had an even bigger problem. He had no clue who the hell he was himself. He shut his eyes as his mind tilted.

Chet panicked when Johnny moaned. "John? Gage! Are you okay, man? What's goin' on? Johhny! Look at me! You're scarin' me, pal! Come on!" He put his hand on his friends shoulder and shook it. He was startled when an iron grip suddenly wrapped around his hand. "Don't. Touch. Me."

Chet looked down into John's dark eyes, which were now so dilated they were almost black. His expression was bleak-almost blank. "John, what is it? What's wrong?"

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "I don't like to be touched by strangers. And I don't know you. And I don't know who this Johnny is. And I have never seen you before in my life."

 **~TBC~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

John sat up and his whole bearing was completely different… almost feral.

Chet had been overwhelmed by their situation ten minutes before. Now he felt as if he had been hit by a tsunami. He had no idea what the seizure or the head injury was doing to Johnny, or how he could help his friend, but he had to try. He knew that sometimes head injuries could cause people to act out, and he didn't want John to hurt himself, so he decided to play along for now.

He took a deep breath, sat back on his heels, and said, "Look, I'm sorry. You kinda look like a guy I know. You mind if I ask your name? Don't wanna call you 'hey you,' right?"

The other man considered this for a moment. He seemed to be processing a whole body of previously untapped knowledge… perhaps hidden from his other Self? Chet didn't know whether to be fascinated or appalled. Finally he turned and looked Chet up and down… seemingly assessing him. He nodded slowly. "You may call me Shadow."

Chet nodded. "Okay, Shadow. Uh, things are kinda messed up right now. We should probably get some sleep—see how things play out in the morning."

Shadow stood with the stealthy grace of a natural athlete. He showed no signs of pain or injury, as if he had shelved it somewhere far away. He moved silently about the campsite, looking things over with the eye of an expert. A chill ran down Chet's spine. He had seen that exact expression on someone's face before. His field instructors when he was in the Army used to look exactly like that when they were on practice maneuvers. He suddenly felt as if all the preparations he had made in the clearing were being carefully assessed and graded. As if he himself were being weighed and measured. _And maybe found wanting_. Which was completely insane because this was not some badass secret agent he was looking at. This was just Johnny Gage, a guy he had known for years… The station goofball. His Pigeon. Okay, sort of a busted-up pigeon, _but still…_

He searched the area thoroughly, checking out the plane, the dead man's grave, the shelter and the supplies, everything.

Eventually, he came back to the sleeping bags and sat back down gracefully. His expression was unreadable at first. Finally, he nodded slightly. "You have done well. It is obviously not an optimal situation. I shall do my best tomorrow to contact one of the others."

Chet raised an eyebrow. "Others? What others? Who?"

Shadow stopped speaking and an expression of uncertainty filled his eyes. "Others? What others?" he echoed. He raised a hand to his head and grimaced in pain.

Chet looked at him, worried. "Maybe you better lay down. You can deal with it tomorrow."

Shadow nodded. "That might be for the best. I do not feel well at the moment.

Chet watched as he climbed stiffly into the sleeping bag after checking for unwanted visitors, and Chet himself did the same. He plucked a small tarantula out of his bag and tossed it off into the brush. "Sorry fella, I don't share my sleeping quarters. Go find a lady friend to snuggle up with."

He settled in and looked up at the stars. "God, it's me again. I got no clue what to even ask here, so just… help? Thanks. G'night. Oh and, uh, Amen."

And with that, Chet rolled over and went to sleep with no idea what awaited him the next morning.

Chet opened his eyes to bright sunlight, birdsong and aching muscles. And the smell of really good coffee. He blinked a few times to clear his head and looked over towards where Shadow had fallen asleep. The bag was neatly "made" and quite empty. Chet sat up, a little panicked.

"G'mornin' g'mornin' g'mornin'! How ya doin, Chester B.?"

Chet turned toward the cheerful voice, completely stunned. Johnny was stirring a batch of pancakes by the fire and grinning at him. Coffee was boiling in a pan on one side of the fire. Chet knew for sure he would never be able to keep up with all the confusing emotions flooding him. "John, are you sure you should be doing that? I mean, are you okay?"

Johnny looked at the lineman as if he had suddenly grown an extra head. "Sure! I'm fine. I've got a skull-banger of a headache, but why shouldn't I be okay? I got a pretty good knock on the skull, but you did a dandy job patching me up. Now, get over here. I don't plan on eating all these by myself, y'know."

Chet scowled and nodded. "Yeah, okay." He sighed and blew out his breath. He was glad on the one hand John seemed better, but last night had been just way too weird for him to just let it drop. He straightened out his bedroll and moved over by the fire, accepted a plate of food and a cup of coffee. Say what you wanted about the youngest man in the crew, Gage made fantastic coffee, Chet thought as he sipped the hot strong brew gratefully.

They were quiet as they sat next to the fire after they finished their meal. John automatically began rubbing the plates and cups with sand to clean them, and Chet watched, a bemused expression on his face. No matter what the head injury may have done to him, you could not take away the outdoorsman ingrained into him. Johnny was a survivor at heart. You could put him into just about any situation, give him a hunting knife and he would survive, and likely thrive. It was this quality that drew people to him... that fascinated Chet. Of course, Chet would never admit that fact to him. It would ruin their friendship. It would kill the vibe they had between them. The Phantom could never admit how much he really cared about his Pigeon. That would take all the fun out of the game!

Chet watched John out of the corner of his eye. He knew he was going to have to broach the subject of what had happened sooner or later. For one thing, he could tell that Johnny was still in pain, and he remembered that terrible seizure. There was no telling whether he would have another one, since it was likely that the head injury that had caused the first one. Chet wasn't sure if John's odd behavior had been caused by the seizure, or if had simply was acting out-he wasn't sure if what had John had told him was real or some strange fantasy. But he needed to know.

He took a deep breath and faced John, who now was whittling some sticks into arrows. Apparently, he had decided to do some hunting. "John, how much do you remember about what happened last night?"

Johnny's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Chet? What happened last night?"

Chet's eyes widened a little. "You don't remember anything unusual?"

"No, not particularly. Why, did something happen?"

"Do you remember having the seizure last night?"

Johnny looked at Chet blankly. "No, man, what are you talkin' about.? I don't remember anything except goin' to bed."

"Okay, do you remember the plane crash, how we got here?"

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sore. I got a headache to beat the band." He casually continued whittling the stick as they talked.

Chet floundered a little, as he wasn't sure what to say next. The things Gage had been saying were so off the wall, he was positive they were just delirious ravings. And yet, he had sounded so different, so confident... so very unlike his normal self, that Chet was sure there was something more to it. He was a little afraid to ask, but he was also curious. He knew he would never be able to let go of the questions that were flooding his brain, so he decided to go for broke.

"John, last night, you had a gran-mal seizure. I think it was the result of the head injury you got in the plane crash. You were pretty out of it for a while. Afterwards, you started talking and acting like somebody else. It was really weird."

Kelly couldn't help but notice when John went completely still. He suddenly seemed to even stop breathing. Chocolate eyes that darkened nearly to black bored into his own. Gage stood and moved closer to the lineman, before squatting down next to him. Those dark eyes were again drilling Chet, making him feel as if they could see right through him. When he spoke, John's voice was low and intense. "Chet, what exactly did I say last night?"

"Well, you were doing a lot of talking about how you were a guy named Shadow..."

John cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Stop!" He blew out his breath in a huff of frustration. "Damnit. No one was ever supposed to know!"

Chet furrowed his brow in confusion. "Know what, John? What are you? Some sort of super-spy or something? He chuckled uncomfortably when Johnny simply stared solemnly at him, never even coming close to cracking a smile. Chet shook his head. "You're kidding! You really are some sort of secret agent or something?"

Johnny shook his head. "No, Chet. Not exactly. Not like you think. But I can't explain it to you. There is way too much at stake. Too many people involved. If I tell you, I'd have to shoot you." The grin ghosting the corners of his mouth meant he was only half serious.

He sighed and stared off into the distance for a few minutes. "Well, in one way, this kind of makes our situation a little better. At least I can call for help now. I had been trying to figure out how to do this without telling you anything. Now, they'll just have to do a little damage control, and we can get home a little sooner."

Chet frowned. "What the hell are you talking about, Gage?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Chet frowned. "What the hell are you talking about, Gage?"

Johnny stood and went over to his rucksack. He pulled a rather odd-looking device out of it. He flipped it open and pressed a button. He waited a moment. A distinctive British accent answered almost immediately. "Bat Cave here, Shadow, where the 'ell are ya mate?"

"Oh, you are not gonna believe this one, but I need some help. I need an extraction for me and a friend, as well as a DB."

"I'll let you explain it to the boss. Got yer coordinates. Figger on about 2200. No use makin' the natives any more restless than they are. Either of ya 'urt then?"

Shadow smirked. "I got another concussion I think, and we're both a bit banged up, but we'll be fine till then."

"Good enough, but you best be prepared for the 'ot seat, mate!"

"Not the first time, likely won't be the last."

"Roger that. Bat Cave Out."

"Shadow, Out.

Chet stared at his friend. "You wanna explain what that was all about?"

"Well, Chet, looks like you're gonna get a brief look at the other side of my life... at least the life I had before I came to Los Angeles. I don't spend as much time with my old team now, but we were practically inseparable for a lotta years. They are still working together, and I join them once in a while. I still keep up my license... just to keep my hand in the game."

Chet eyed Gage, feeling as if he was seeing not his friend and station-mate, but a complete stranger. "What kind of game?"

Johhny ran his hand through his hair, betraying his nervousness. "I was a mercenary, Chet. I'm former Special Forces. I was trained as an assassin. A sniper." His last words came out so softly that Chet wasn't sure he had even heard them for sure. But the look in John's eyes told him everything he needed to know. There was no need for him to repeat the words.

Chet was a vet. He had known a few Special Forces guys. Had the greatest respect in the world for them... but he never in the world expected that John had been one of them. In fact, he had always assumed John had never even served in the military. He just didn't seem the type. He seemed too sensitive... almost too soft. Obviously, Chet was way wrong about that assumption. He looked over at the paramedic. "So, what happens now?"

John smiled, a little wearily. "Now, I am gonna go get us a couple rabbits for lunch, and then we're gonna start breaking camp. Put together everything we wanna take with us. My guys will be here tonight, 2200. We need to be ready by then. If anything more happens to me in the meantime, you need to be able to tell them everything that happened here.

Chet's eyes widened at the thought, but he realized that John was right, and he agreed to do his best. He did have a question. "Are you sure it's a good idea for you to be going off hunting like that? I mean, shouldn't you go ahead and rest? After all, there is still a lot of food in the chest over there. I can take care of us, you know. I don't really think your friends are going to appreciate it if I let you wander off and let you get yourself killed at this point."

John blinked and sat back. He had automatically slipped into survival mode. He had honestly forgotten about the footlocker. And he could have kicked himself. This only confirmed to the paramedic that he was not operating at full capacity, because he had prepared breakfast and coffee from the supplies in the footlocker, and then gone ahead with his preparations to hunt when he had seen all the MREs and other supplies that were available.

He scrubbed a hand across his face. That concussion had definitely done a number on him. He looked over at Chet. The man was sitting on his bedroll, gazing off into the distance. His expression was unreadable, but Johnny knew this all had to be a shock to him. The hard part was yet to come, because John knew that Chet could never be allowed to tell anyone else what he knew... about the team, or about John's double life. This was something that Johnny had carefully hidden since he was 16 years old. He was not about to reveal this secret to anyone now. Not for any reason. And so, Chet would have to forget. That was the reason that a certain member of the team would be flying in on the rescue chopper tonight...

 **~51~**

It was late afternoon when it happened again. John had another grand mal. And like the night before, he was unconscious for about twenty minutes. Chet was a little better prepared this time, but it was still a frightening experience. He kept his cool and dealt with it. As before, when John came to, he was Shadow. He said little but seemed to be aware that they were in the process of breaking camp. Chet simply went along with him and hoped that nothing would set off the mercenary before his team arrived, or that John would make his reappearance. To say that Chet was uncomfortable with the situation was a huge understatement.

One thing that Shadow's presence did help was when he went to dig up their pilot's body. He insisted that Chet work at putting their supplies together, and he insisted he could handle the unburial detail himself, and he did. That was when Chet wondered how he could have missed how tough and strong John really was. He handled the Pulaski and shovel as if the rocks and dirt were nothing. Somehow it was pretty scary. Shadow was incredibly fit and strong... almost like a whole different person.

Unlike the last time, Shadow seemed to stay around for a while. Chet was not sure if this was a manifestation of the head injury, or if John was simply allowing Chet to see his other side. It was confusing, so he decided his best course of action was to simply stay quiet, and just roll with whatever happened.

His plan might have worked if just after they had finished eating a couple of the MRE's for dinner and settling down with cups of coffee, John hadn't suddenly cried out and clutched his head in agony. Without another word, he toppled over, and passed out cold. Nothing Chet did roused him, and it didn't take a genius to realize the paramedic was suddenly in big trouble.

As he riffled through John's pockets, searching for the radio he had seen him stash there, Chet just hoped he could get Shadow's team to answer him. He had a feeling it might be his friend's only chance. He found it finally, and just before he switched it on, he glowered at his Pigeon. "Don't you die on me, damnit. You do, and I will never forgive you!"

It took a couple of minutes to figure out how to turn the thing on, as it was a little more high-tech than he was used to. He wasn't about to stand on ceremony, so Chet simply dispensed with codes or niceties. "Hey, is anybody out there? I'm with Shadow and he's in trouble!"

There was silence for a few moments, and then a deep, gravelly voice, definitely not the cheerful Cockney from earlier in the day boomed over the speaker. "Who is this? What are you doing on this channel?"

"Look, my name is Chet. I'm the guy with Shadow. He's hurt. He passed out from a head injury. I know he gave you guys our coordinates, and you're supposed to meet us in a few hours, but I don't think he's got that long."

The voice growled back, "Standby."

Chet waited for a few frustrated moments. Finally, the Cockney voice came on. "Okay, lad, sit tight. We've a team on our way to you. Try to keep 'im warm. Are you ready to move everythin' outta there?"

Chet snorted. "Yeah, the site is as packed out as we could make it. What does that matter? John-Shadow-could be dyin' here!"

The voice sharpened. "It matters, lad! Believe me. It matters. Just stay where you are. The team'll be there within the hour... two choppers. One for you an' Shadow... an' one clean-up crew. We'll have you safe an' sound back in yer flat on Pinedale Avenue before you know it, lad. Bat Cave out."

The connection was broken, and it was a full ten minutes before Chet realized the unknown Englishman had referenced his apartment building. He stared at the pale form of his friend. Who the hell were these people? He had a really strong feeling that he probably would never know. On the other hand, he was equally sure he really didn't want to know. He dampened a cloth and sponged his friend's forehead. It might not do much good, but if it provided any comfort at all, he had to try.

True to their word, it was just about 45 minutes later, when two eerily silent choppers landed in the field nearby. About a dozen men dressed in black embarked from both choppers, and things happened very quickly after that. Chet and Shadow were loaded into the nearest one, along with their gear, and they took off after less than five minutes on the ground. Chet glanced out the side window and saw that the crash site had become a hive of activity. He realized that they were loading anything salvageable from the site. He was also well aware of what a military clean-up team was capable of accomplishing. By morning, no one would be able to discern there had even been a crash here.

He turned to look at the rescuer who had introduced himself as Finn. "Why the secrecy? Why scrub the site? If it had just been me and John involved, and Shadow hadn't shown up, then we would have just hiked out and nobody would have been the wiser. What makes Shadow so different? Nobody is gonna care about that

plane crash in the long run. Not once the people are outta there."

The mercenary leveled bright blue eyes on him. He ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. His voice held a hint of amusement. "If I told you that, I'd have ta kill ya!"

Chet grimaced. "Yeah, Shadow said something like to me before."

The soldier smiled apologetically. "It's just the way it has to be. Makes it easier on you."

Chet frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Less for you to have to forget."

"Huh?"

Chet felt the slight prick of the needle in his neck, but never saw who administered the drug that knocked him out.

Wolfchild looked over at her lover, Stone. "I hate sneaking up on people like that." As the team medic, she had been tending to Shadow in the back and also monitoring the conversation between the two soldiers and the other man they had rescued... the one called Chet. She had taken her cue when Stone had nicked his head towards her and Finn had told Chet he would have less to forget.

The sedative itself was mild and would last only a few hours. The other drug included was the most important one. It was one that Page had developed in his lab down in the Bat Cave. It was a powerful amnesiate. It would wipe out all that had befallen the lineman over the last 72 hours... and then enable Wolfchild or Stone to implant alternate memories and install him in his apartment. It would take a little teamwork, and the death of the pilot would be a bit hard to work around, but basically, the entire incident would not have happened by the team was finished.

Wolfchild looked over at Stone. "One thing I will say for Chet. He is good. Shadow's going to be alright, given time. But he wouldn't have survived without the care his friend gave him. He's going to need surgery... I think it's a hematoma. Won't know for sure till we get him to hospital."

Stone's black eyes were solemn. He and Shadow were very close. They were both Natives, though Stone was Samoan. In many ways, the two men thought very much alike. "You sure he's gonna make it?"

Wolfchild tossed her dark braid. "He may end up with another scar or two, but yeah, I think he will. Now, we need to check in with the Boss, and get to work."

The two men agreed, and Phase Two began.

 **Three Weeks Later**

And indeed, they did "get to work." As it turned out, John Gage and Chet Kelly did not go flying over the weekend. Instead, they went on a rather disastrous camping trip. John fell while hiking, and Chet got him to a small clinic, where he received help for his head injury. The pilot died over the weekend of a heart attack. His body was shipped to New York to be buried.

John had time off due to his injury, though Chet came back after a few days off to recuperate from his various bumps and bruises. He regaled his shift-mates with stories of the rescue of John from his fall over the cliff, and of the lousy fishing. None of the men were surprised at the fish stories, since it seemed as if none of them had much luck with fishing. Cap was pretty much ready to throttle his junior lineman every time he opened his mouth at that point, because it was no secret that he absolutely despised fish. A couple of pointed threats regarding latrine duty finally shut the irrepressible lineman up and sent him hunting around for tricks to pull on John, planning for his favorite target's return to duty.

As for John? Well, if he was just a bit more guarded and quieter on his return, everyone simply chalked it up to his recent fall, and kept an eye on him for just a while. It wasn't long before things got back completely to normal...

 **~The End~**


End file.
